


Dammit Barton! - A Merry Band of Masturbators

by pippen2112



Series: Dammit Barton Series [3]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Dubious consent (Chapter 2 Only), Exhibitionism, F/M, Gen, Humiliation, M/M, Masturbation, Porn Watching, Sarcasm, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 05:26:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippen2112/pseuds/pippen2112
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing about Clint Barton is he’s not actually a pervert.  </p>
<p>Depending on who you talk to, Clint Barton is actually incredibly lucky, has impossible timing, believes in not killing the mood, left his cell phone in the freezer…again, or honestly just wanted you to know that Coulson made cookies and Thor is threatening to eat them all.  Depending on which of his roommates you’re talking to that is.</p>
<p>Or: 5 Times Clint walked in on a team member masturbating, and 1 time vengeance was had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Merry Band of Masturbators

**Author's Note:**

> This is porn-y with some comedy thrown in. Also, I am saying "fuck canon" because I love Coulson and he makes an appearance in this fic.

DAMMIT BARTON – A Merry Band of Masturbators

 

The thing about Clint Barton is he’s not actually a pervert.  Sure, his puns and innuendos are legends among S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, and yes, he is the only person in the known history to make Agent Hill blush (in her defense, she may or may not have been a bit tipsy at the time).  But still, for the most part, he’s no more perverted than the average red-blooded American male.

 

Depending on who you talk to, Clint Barton is actually incredibly lucky, has impossible timing, believes in not killing the mood, left his cell phone in the freezer…again, or honestly just wanted you to know that Coulson made cookies and Thor is threatening to eat them all.  Depending on which of his roommates you’re talking to that is.

 

**Thor**

 

The Avengers Mansion is all but deserted.  Stark is in California for the newest addition of Stark Industries, Banner is helping the W.H.O in southeast Asia, and Rogers is in giving talks to inner-city schoolchildren about the importance of avoiding drugs.  About that much, Thor is certain.  He’s not sure about the whereabouts of the Widow and the Hawk, but they disappear of to wherever S.H.I.E.L.D. requires them.  Which leave Thor alone on Midgard for the day with no plans and a powerful need for touch.

 

He has these days every so often, waking up in a frenetic, over-energized state with the overwhelming desire to mount the nearest warm body and ride until the tension ekes out from his body.  In Asgard, he would simply find another warrior sympathetic to his dilemma and deal with his frustrations.  In Midgard, however, the custom is not as welcomed (i.e. the Lady Jane would be most unhappy with him if such proceedings began).

 

So, after Thor strides around the Mansion for an hour or so, hoping to shake off the feeling, the demigod settles himself on the sofa in the den and undoes his fly and takes his manhood in hand.

 

He works himself at a quick pace in a punishingly tight grip and grits his teeth through the sensation.  He lets his mind wander to the Lady Jane, to the gentleness of her smile and the spirit in her eyes, to the soft touch of her skin and the slenderness of her wrists, to the ampleness of her bosom and the perfect fit of his hands on her waist.  He remembered the gentle care and genuine curiosity in her movements whenever he lay with her, how she would teasingly draw a finger up the seam of his groin and tenderly caress the suede-like skin of the head.  The Lady Jane worked wonders with her hands.

 

Thor came abruptly, imagining the tight heat of her body and the soft sighs she whimpered when he thrust into her.  He leaned his head back and breathed deeply, glad to be rid of his heavy frustration. 

 

Suddenly, a short burst of applause sounded.  Thor opened his eyes abruptly.

 

The Hawk leaned in the doorway, his arms crossed over his body, a slightly smirk playing on his lips.

 

“You’re O-face looks like a koala taking a massive dump,” the Hawk stated matter-of-factly.

 

Thor’s brow furrowed in confusion.  “Koala… I haven’t heard of this… Is it a warrior beast?”

 

The Hawk chuckled and pushed off the wall, turning and walking back toward his room.  “Sure.”

 

When he compared himself to the famed koala to the Lady Jane later that evening, she barely contained a snort and quickly explained to Thor what a koala was.  The demigod flushed slightly.

 

“Dammit Barton,” he roared.

 

Truth be told, the Hawk was incredibly lucky that he hadn’t made his presence known any sooner, or he might have been the one catering to Thor’s needs.  The demigod could be very persuasive.

 

 

**Tony**

 

It’s post-battle adrenaline.  That’s all.  It’s post-battle adrenaline that makes Tony’s cock hard in his pants, that keeps it hard all through the S.H.I.E.L.D. cleanup of the bad-guy-of-the-week, the removal of his suit, the debriefing with Fury, and into the S.H.I.E.L.D. locker room shower. 

 

It’s post-battle adrenaline that makes Tony grip his cock in the shower and slide his slick hand up and down over his swollen member.  It’s post-battle adrenaline that drives him to fuck up into his palm and bite his left fist in attempt to keep from crying out (that fails miserably as throaty moans and whimpers echo in the shower cubicle).  It’s post-battle adrenaline that causes him to burst in thirty-seconds flat, spilling warm seed across his hand and into the shower drain.

 

As he sighs and leans against the wall, he swears that it’s all post-battle adrenaline, not the fact that Pepper had dressed in a sexy Star-Spangled Woman costume and domineered in the bedroom the night before.  Or that he kept flashing back to that move she made with her hips and the rough commands she made every time Cap came into his vision or issued an order. 

 

“You finished in there?”  Barton’s voice calls from just beyond the shower curtain.

 

“Dammit Barton!  You don’t sneak up on a man in the shower,” Tony yelped.

 

The sniper laughs at that.  Honestly, how does he get off with having such good timing?

 

 “Did you figure out how to apparate or something?” Tony continues.  “J.K. will not be pleased that it’s being used to spy on people.”

 

Barton chuckles.  “I prefer to think of it as investigating weird noises coming from the locker room.”

 

After another half-chortle, Tony can hear the sound of Barton’s retreating footsteps and he relaxes a bit more.  Unfortunately, the sniper had a point.

 

 

**Steve** – believes in not killing the mood

 

“Tony does have lovely hands.  I don’t blame you for thinking about them,” Pepper comments from over Steve’s shoulder as he idly sketches at the dining table.

 

He honestly hasn’t been focusing on what his pencil’s been tracing over the paper.  Instead, he lets his mind wander away from the present, away from any conscious thought really, and just feels.  So when Steve starts into true consciousness and notes the pair of hands he’s been working on for the past half hour, slightly scarred around the knuckles the same way Starks are, he’s rather surprised by what he finds.  And why on Earth is he thinking about Stark’s hands?

 

“No—No, I…”

 

Steve stutters for an answer, but Pepper just gives him a soft grin and lays a gentle hand on his shoulder.  She leans closer to him and whispers, “Tony and I have an agreement.  About what is and isn’t allowed in our relationship.  You should talk to him about it sometime.  You might like what you hear.”

 

  1. And Steve stares after her, jaw slack and eyes comically wide, until the elevator doors open and Pepper Potts disappears inside.



 

Steve flips to a blank page in his sketchbook and means to start another doodle, but at the moment, he doesn’t trust his mind not to dredge up painful memories of the War, of Peggy and Bucky and who he used to be.  So he closes his sketchbook and sighs. 

 

At that moment, Barton strolls in, workout clothes slick with fresh sweat from training and stomach grumbling for food.  He nods briefly at Steve before going over to the fridge and studying the contents. 

Steve rises slowly.

 

 “Good workout?” he asks to be personable.  He and Barton don’t have much to talk about; their interests don’t really overlap apart from Avenger-ing and working out.

 

Barton nods distractedly, taking a container of peanut butter from the door and a spoon.  “Yeah, pretty good, though not as good as the one you’re about to get.”

 

“What?”

 

Barton ‘s mouth quirks into a grin and he gives Steve a sideways glance.  “Well, let it be said that I don’t believe in killing the mood.”

 

And with that said he digs into the peanut butter and strolls off toward the living room without another word, leaving Cap more confused than before.  Steve momentarily considers asking Natasha to write up a translation guide for all of Barton’s cryptic looks.  Once he reasons that said guide would probably require over a thousand pages with detailed illustrations, Steve disregards the thought.

 

It isn’t until Steve gets halfway down the hall to his room that he starts to feel light-headed.  He lowers his head and stills when he sees the slight bulge in his trousers.  Huh, when did that happen?

 

Before Steve quickens his stride to get to privacy to relieve himself, he chuckles.  He now understands what Barton meant.

 

Well…that’s embarrassing.

 

“Dammit Barton.”

 

**Bruce**

 

“Banner,” Barton yells as he races toward the lab.  “Coulson made cupcakes!  With frosting and sprinkles and shit!  Thor’s threatening to eat yours!”

 

Barton rounds the corner and crosses the lab’s threshold before he skids to a stop.

 

Bruce is, at that moment, a little bit tied up.  Well, more than a little bit tied up.  His ankles are bound to the legs of the chair he’s sitting on and his left hand is tied to the chair arm.  His right hand is free though and moving at a teasingly slow pace over his erection.  Bruce’s eyes are closed, and his mouth is open ever so slightly, and his breathing comes in harsh pants.

 

“Oh…shit.”

 

Bruce’s eyes jerk open at that.  He starts forward in his chair, almost toppling forward before he finds his balance once more.  His cheeks flush bright rose red.  “Dammit Barton,” Bruce mutters on a half-drawn breath.  It comes out like a sigh. 

 

Barton puts a hand up over his eyes after that, and slowly backs toward the door. 

 

“Sorry, wasn’t expecting that.  I’m guessing science stuff.  Shit.  Umm…” Barton blabbers as he moves away.  “Coulson.  Cupcakes.  One for you in fridge.  Hurry or Thor will eat it.  Bye.”

 

And as quickly as he arrived, Barton flees the lab, genuinely flustered by what he’s witnessed.

 

Bruce doesn’t move for several minutes before he starts untying his right hand and willing away what little is left of his arousal.  Only once he’s free from his self-inflicted bonds and his clothing is set right does he realize what felt odd about the encounter.

 

“Coulson bakes?”

 

 

**Natasha** – left his cell phone in the freezer…again

 

It’s been three weeks since her last proper fuck, and Natasha is feeling it in her bones.  She’s been antsy for the past week, flinching more sporadically than usual and eyes flitting from one object to another too quickly without noting any details.  It almost fucked up her mission in Cannes, so when Natasha gets back to the Avengers Mansion after that particularly grueling mission, she takes matters into her own hands.

 

She’s incredibly glad its Saturday night and Tony has persuaded the men into having a boy’s night because it means the den is pleasantly empty.  Which is good, because it has the biggest TV and the best sound system in the tower. 

 

Natasha settles in pretty quickly, ferrying her favorite dildo, Ivana, and her small collection of vintage gay porn to the couch.

 

“JARVIS,” she says sweetly, “please turn off all the surveillance cameras in this room.  Even the one’s Tony pretends I don’t know about.”

 

“Yes ma’am,” the AI responds, “but I’ll need the pass code to disable the secret cameras.”

 

Natasha smiles up at the ceiling.  “JARVIS, we both know I have no qualms about reprogramming you to be Cockney.  Let’s not make this any more difficult than it needs to be.”

 

“All cameras have been disabled, ma’am,” he immediately replies sounding as terrified as the AI is capable of.

 

Natasha smiles and first tape into the player (yes, she owns porn VHS; yes, she will kill you if you mock her for it) and settles down on the couch as the soft sounds of fellatio fills the room. 

 

Natasha undresses quickly and lets one hand settle on her thigh, teasing circles over the sensitive skin.  She takes Ivana in her other hand and slowly licks across the glans and up and down the length of the toy before drawing it between her lips.  Her hand migrates toward the apex of her thighs as she suckles on Ivana, taking one inch at a time until the unrelenting plastic touches the back of her throat. 

 

She drags a finger across her slickened slit, gathering the moisture there and moving in slow circles over her clit.  She sighs as she trails Ivana down between her breasts, over the smooth skin of her belly, and rests it against the slit.  Natasha closes her eyes and tips her head back as she pushes the dildo into her wet heat and moans at the stretch.

 

The elevator dings under the din of the video.  She doesn’t need to turn to know who it is.

 

“Dammit Barton.  Go away.”

 

“Just grabbing my phone.  Left it in the freezer again.”

 

Natasha glares at the ceiling, hoping he can sense it.

 

She hears the freezer door open.  Barton fumbles with a few pints of ice cream searching for the gadget.  Natasha could wait for him to leave, but he already knows what she’s up to.  Hell, he’s had first-row seats to the show on numerous occasions, so she pulls Ivana out before thrusting the toy back inside.  She gives half a moan at the feeling.

 

“You know, I didn’t peg you for a porn-watcher,” Barton quips as he closes the freezer

 

“You know, I didn’t peg you as a man who wanted his balls removed,” Natasha snaps.

 

Barton laughs anyway. “Excuse me, I’ve got a boy’s night to get to.  Happy masturbation!”

 

“Shut it, Barton!”

 

Thankfully, he does, and he makes a quick exit too (an unexpected bonus).

 

Despite the interruption, fifteen minutes later, Natasha is quite satisfied with her evening.  When the boys get back just after midnight and find her sitting in the den with a glass of wine and a novel, no one says a thing.

 

It’s for the best.


	2. You're Welcome.

Barton is missing.  That shouldn’t be a big surprise at this point.  He frequently disappears into the ventilation system when he wants to be alone, or he slips onto the roof when Tony’s mood goes south.  Still, the Hawk has a peculiar way of showing up just when he’s needed (or not needed), and right now, Bruce needs Barton to agree with him that Ghostbusters trumps Groundhog Day.

 

Bruce has checked Barton’s room, the archery range, the gym, the room, and every crawlspace he can find, but after almost an hour, he’s fairly certain Barton is properly missing.  When Bruce gets back to the central living area, he finds Steve, Natasha, Thor, and Tony all crowded around a laptop.

 

“Has anyone seen Barton?” Bruce asks.

 

Thor snorts, Steve blushes, Tony cackles, and Natasha quirks her brow.  Before Bruce can ask, Natasha waves him over, her eyes not leaving the screen.  Bruce cautiously approaches, but he’s fairly certain he knows what he’ll find.

 

On screen, he sees a gritty black and white video feed of Barton.  Bruce expected it to be a ransom demand for the archer.  He doesn’t expect to see Barton “buck-ass nude” on a bed, his wrists bound to the headboard, his eyes covered by a dark blindfold, his legs splayed lewdly, his cock hard and flushed.  And he really doesn’t expect to see a wireless pink remote beside the laptop next to a purple post-it that reads “You’re welcome” in a foreign hand.

 

“Is that what I think it is?” Bruce asks, staring at the remote.

 

“Yep,” Tony replies, his eyes fixated on the screen.

 

“What is it?” Thor questions as he tentatively touches dial on the pink device.

 

A red dot lights, and onscreen, Barton’s hips buck forward involuntarily.

 

“What’d he do?” Steve yelps, throwing is hands up innocently.

 

“You turned on the vibrator,” Natasha states matter-of-factly.

 

Steve flushes at that, but confusion spreads across Thor’s brow.  He looks to Bruce for explanation.

 

Bruce swallows thickly around his dry mouth.  “It’s a sex aid.  A…a toy to make the experience more… pleasurable.”

 

“Is coitus not pleasurable enough for you Earth-folk?”

 

“It takes two to do the horizontal tango,” Tony quips.  “If you’re dancing with the one-eyed sailor, sometimes you need a little something extra.  Sometimes it’s porn.  Sometimes it’s…”

 

“Shoving a vibrator up your ass,” Natasha murmurs distractedly.

 

The team watches in silence for a few minutes.  Bruce can’t help but wonder how they would be reacting to this scenario if the video feed had audio as well.  He can see Barton’s throat tensing and his mouth dipping open.  Barton’s hips buck every so often, and his dick swells further.

 

Bruce’s eyes fall to the remote, briefly wondering why it’s there, why they’re still watching the feed, why Barton’s featured on the feed, why they haven’t increased the vibrators strength… to put Barton out of his misery. 

 

Without realizing it, Bruce touches the dial and turns it just a tad.

 

The onscreen result is instantaneous.  Barton’s head falls back against the headboard, and he squirms against his bonds. 

 

Natasha leans forward in her seat, fully focused on the scene in front of her.

 

“Enjoying yourself, Widow?” Tony asks, face more flushed than normal, hands twitching on the tabletop.

 

“No less than you are, Stark,” she replies.

 

“Who says I’m getting my rocks off to this?” Tony counters.

 

Thor chuckles.  “You humans are so petty.  On Asgard, there is no shame in taking pleasure in another man’s form.”

 

“I’m behind you there,” Bruce mutters without thinking.

 

“Thor doesn’t count.  Anyone would go gay for Thor,” Tony quips.  “I bet our own Star-Spangled man would tap that.”

 

Silence.  Bruce can hear the other team members shuffling around, looking for Steve, but he’s too engrossed in the video feed to care.  HE reaches down to the remote, but Natasha grabs his wrist without looking.

 

“Wait for it,” she whispers.

 

Barton’s managed to get his feet planted on the bed, and he’s thrusting his hips forward in the vain hope of finding friction.  His jaw clenches and his throat tightens.  His arms almost thrash against his bonds.  Bruce can’t blame him for that.  Barton’s been hard, probably on the edge of orgasm, for at least ten minutes.

 

“Now.”

 

Bruce is so lost in his thoughts that he almost misses Natasha’s hiss.  He turns the dial slowly, building the tension higher and higher as Barton moves frantically, mouth open and screaming with need.  Natasha’s grip on his wrist tightens, and dutifully, Bruce continues the slow rise until finally, Barton gives one last hard buck and comes all over his stomach.  The Hawk’s head tips back and he collapses onto the bed, blessed out beyond all recall.

 

“Shit,” Tony whispers in a newly rough voice.

 

“I taught him well,” Natasha comments smugly.

 

The video feed cuts out not long after that.  What’s left of the team (Tony, Natasha, and Bruce) sit in silence.

 

Natasha slowly rises.  “I’ll be in my bunk.”

 

Tony perks up at that.  “Need any help?”

 

“Nope.”

 

Natasha saunters away down the hall.  The sound of her door closing echoes in the near-silent tower.

 

Tony looks Bruce in the eye before quirking his brow, asking a silent question.  Bruce laughs.

 

“We both know I’m not horny enough to not be afraid of Pepper’s wrath.”

 

Tony winces at that before thinking quietly.

 

“Porn in the TV room?” he suggests.

 

“I’m not gonna get away with saying no, am I?”

 

“Pretty much.”

 

“I’ll grab my lube.”

 

~  ][  ~

 

The next time the Avengers see Barton, they agree not to mention it.  Even Tony’s onboard with that one, though it takes some time to convince Thor.

 

They forgot to tell Barton about that plan.

 

“So,” Barton asks the next time the team gathers.  “I’m amazed no one commented about the vibrator being pink.  I expected flack for that.”

 

One spit-take, one wry smile, one aborted snort, one swallowed apology, and one chortle later, Coulson snaps (unphased as ever) “Dammit Barton.  We’re in a briefing.”

 

“Apologies sir,” Barton replies, but his smirk clearly say ‘no, in fact, I’m not sorry.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed this fic! I'm running low on ideas, so if anyone has any requests, please let me know!!!! - Pip


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